Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“I didn’t mind.”
“Okay, but I still feel weird.”
I squinted. “Weird…in what way?”
Noah let out a muffled squawk. “So many ways! I’m talking too fast, my eyeliner is too thick, my shoelaces are too tight, and I’m second-guessing my own wardrobe, which is crazy, ’cause I spent two hours getting dressed and I’m pretty sure I look amazing.”
I nodded. “You do.”
“Thank you.” He picked three packets of boxer briefs in my monotone color preferences from the display and fiddled with the packaging. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you were by far the biggest highlight of my week. I’m sorry about the glasses, but I’d kiss you again in a heartbeat.”
“You would?”
“Hell, yes,” he gushed. “Obviously, I won’t. So don’t worry. We’re on a wardrobe makeover mission. I promise to behave.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but I scratched my temple and smiled instead. “For the sake of full disclosure, you should probably know that I’m not a fan of shopping, per se.”
Noah bit his bottom lip and grinned mischievously. “Understood. But you’re in good hands, Professor. I know how to make shopping fun. C’mon.”
I was never going to enjoy shopping, but true to his word, Noah made it fun. He was energetic, enthusiastic, and entertaining. He drew me into serious conversations about the strangest topics—like how I felt about slim-fit button-down shirts…fine. Or if I was open to colors besides white and pale blue. Not really.
“What do you wear to work?” he asked, giving me a sly once-over.
“Khakis and T-shirts, mainly. Sometimes a button-down shirt. I could use a few more of those.”
“Let’s start there. You’ll need something fancy for the wedding too. Or do you already have a suit?”
I idly thumbed through a display of neatly folded polo shirts. “I’m sure I’ll have to rent a tux for the wedding.”
“Oh. That’s easy. A reputable place will take care of the fitting for you.”
“Yeah, that won’t be an issue. It’s the pre-wedding events that my sister is concerned about—like the swanky overnight wedding shower at the Remington manor in Santa Barbara. For couples. According to Tabby, I need a makeover and a date.”
Noah opened his mouth in a wide O. “Oh, my. That sounds lush. Remington? Why does that name sound familiar?”
“They own a luxury department store chain. Maybe that’s it.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Tell me more about the party.”
“I don’t know much more. There will probably be a cocktail hour, a fancy dinner, and casual sporting contests. I’ll be a spectator. Or better yet, I’ll make an excuse and leave early. I refuse to get roped into something embarrassing.”
“Hmm. I have so many questions, but I’ll stick to shopping needs first. You can probably get away with a nice pair of trousers and a sports coat for cocktails and dinner. You don’t own those items, do you?”
I grimaced. “No.”
“Don’t despair. I’ve got you covered. Let’s pick out a few shirts and mosey over to the fancy pants section.”
Noah shook his hips in a silly dance and beckoned a salesperson to measure my arms and neck before choosing a couple of plain white and light-blue options. We shopped for a new belt and socks, then made our way to the next area. He guided me through each department, pausing to peruse ties and shoes as he chatted about the importance of color and fit.
I nodded a lot, but mostly I just studied Noah. He seemed aloof again. That was hard to explain because he was still engaging and funny. But his queries felt like bricks in an invisible wall—reminders that we were nothing more than strangers prolonging an acquaintanceship. He riffled through displays with his head down, firing off questions in much the same way he did when he cut hair. Carefully distant with little eye contact.
I didn’t think Noah purposely gave mixed signals. I got the impression it was a habit. And perhaps a form of protection he’d adapted from his profession that bled into his personal interactions. It made sense. Hairdressers talked to people from all walks of life and were privy to intimate details, but in his case, I’d bet that was a one-way form of communication. He gathered intel yet gave very little of himself away.
Fascinating. I didn’t usually share personal info either, but my sister’s wedding wasn’t exactly a secret. In fact, it was sort of therapeutic to gripe about something I would have otherwise done my best to forget about until the last possible second.
“So the shower guests are all married couples?” he asked, holding up a plaid shirt.
I made a “no, thanks” face regarding the shirt before answering. “Not necessarily, but knowing Tabby, her friends will all have appropriate partners. Even if it’s just for the weekend.”
Noah snickered. “What’s an appropriate partner?”
“Someone who looks and acts like they do. Knowing Tabby, she’d probably like me to bring someone like her fiancé. As much as I want her to be happy, that isn’t going to happen.”